The Prodigal Comes Home. Kathryn Springer

shoes.

      “I appreciate your concern.” However misplaced. “But I just needed to get out and…stretch my legs for a minute.”

      Stretch her legs. Gather her courage. Postpone the inevitable.

      All one and the same.

      “Stretch your legs.” The thread of doubt in the husky voice made Zoey wince.

      Right. Most people would have probably chosen to do that at a rest area or gas station. A place with heat.

      “That’s right.” Zoey lifted her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She took another step closer to the Jeep.

      So did he.

      Zoey’s breath hitched in her throat, but all he did was reach out to open the car door for her. And then went still.

      Obviously much more observant than she was, he’d immediately spotted the mound of clothing, which happened to be the entire contents of Zoey’s closet, along with an eclectic jumble of her earthly possessions heaped onto the backseat. All evidence of the haste in which she’d left the night before.

      To make matters worse, Zoey’s stomach decided to remind her—quite loudly—that it had been more than twelve hours since she’d eaten. She could have grabbed a snack at some point along the way, but she decided that nothing in the deli case of a gas station would peacefully coexist with the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach.

      A blush added another layer of color to her already-pink cheeks as the man’s gaze cut back to her. His eyes, a warm palette of green and brown that brought back memories of summer walks through the woods, searched hers. Looking for…something.

      Afraid of what he might find there, Zoey looked away.

      “There’s a cafe in town. It’s called the Grapevine,” he said after a moment. “Could I buy you a cup of coffee? Maybe some breakfast?”

      Disappointment arrowed through her. She should have known better. “Does that line usually work?”

      “No…” He caught himself. “I mean, no, it isn’t a line. It’s an…offer.” His gaze dropped to her hands, still balled up in the bright cocoon of her sweater, before flickering over the mountain of clothing once again. “I’m not even inviting myself along. It would be my treat.”

      Zoey frowned a little.

      He was offering to pay for her breakfast? That didn’t make any sense…

      Yes, it did.

      He thought she was down on her luck, like a stray kitten who needed food and shelter from the cold.

      Zoey stifled a groan as she tried to see herself through his eyes. She hadn’t bothered to change clothes after her evening performance at the dinner theater where she worked, but he wouldn’t know that what she wore was a costume. All he would see were paisley-patterned tights peeking through the slashed knees of her faded jeans. Pink canvas tennis shoes, meant for summer instead of snow. A misshapen patchwork sweater that had definitely seen better days.

      And Zoey wasn’t even going to think about what her hair looked like.

      Mortified, she slipped past him and dove into the driver’s seat. “No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. Really.”

      He stepped back as Zoey pulled the door shut and turned the key in the ignition, hoping the temperamental engine would start. It did, after a brief but grating shudder of protest.

      When she finally gathered the courage to glance in the rearview mirror, the man was standing in the exact spot where she’d left him.

      Watching her drive away.

      “You have to actually drink the coffee, not stare at it, in order for the caffeine to kick in, Pastor.”

      Matt Wilde glanced up and saw Kate Nichols, the owner of the Grapevine cafe, standing next to the booth, armed with a coffee pot. He flashed a rueful smile in her direction. “Sorry. I was somewhere else.”

      “It must have been somewhere pretty far away,” Kate observed. “Usually you’re on your third cup by now.”

      Not so far away, Matt thought. In fact, just a few miles from town.

      Corduroy Road had been part of his regular route for over a year. It was a quiet back road that looped around the east side of Mirror Lake. He could have run it blindfolded. And other than the squirrels and birds that chattered at him from the trees, he usually had it all to himself.

      Until this morning, when he’d rounded the corner and saw a purple Jeep parked at an angle alongside the road. One look at the rust creeping around the wheel wells and over the bumper like a bad rash and Matt guessed it had broken down.

      Then he saw her.

      A slight figure marching up and down the road, head bent against the wind. The baggy sweater she wore a kaleidoscope of color against a backdrop of gray and white.

      Matt had assumed she was a teenager. Until she turned around.

      Dark curls framed a face made up small, sharp angles. Her eyes, which by all rights should have been brown, were a pearl gray that reminded him of the lake just before dawn. A dusting of freckles across her nose made her beauty more winsome than exotic.

      He hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind.

      Maybe because you bungled things so badly?

      Matt couldn’t dismiss the inner voice. Not when it was right.

      First he’d startled her. Then he’d insulted her.

      He closed his eyes briefly, the memory sawing at his conscience. Instead of understanding that his impulsive offer to buy her breakfast stemmed from compassion, she’d thought he was hitting on her. Hence the hasty departure. The rusty Jeep had lurched forward, the loose tailpipe belching exhaust as she drove away…

      “Hey! You left again.” Kate waved the order pad in front of his face, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Your breakfast is coming right up, by the way.”

      “I didn’t order breakfast.”

      “It’s the most important meal of the day.” Kate topped off his cup and flitted away.

      Matt couldn’t summon a smile even though it was a standing joke between them. He would come into the Grapevine and order coffee before going to the church. Kate would return with a plate weighted down with her famous “Lumberjack Special,” a mountain of hash browns topped with scrambled eggs and sausage, surrounded by a moat of maple syrup tapped from a local sugar bush.

      When she deposited the plate in front of him a few minutes later, Matt shook his head. “No wonder I have to run five miles.”

      Kate grinned. “Enjoy.”

      As he ate he thought about this crazy insistence on feeding him that his church members had. Everyone joined in. His congregation at Church of the Pines thought that his bachelor status meant he didn’t know how to fry an egg.

      He did, but he never turned down a dinner invitation. Jesus frequently went to peoples’ homes and built relationships around a table. Matt saw no reason not to follow his Savior’s lead.

      A blast of cold air rolled into the cafe as the door swung open. Matt’s head jerked up. Maybe the woman on the road had decided to take him up on his offer…and give him an opportunity to apologize. But instead of a waif-like young woman with enormous gray eyes, he saw Harold Dinsman, one of Kate’s regulars, shuffling toward the row of vinyl-covered stools to stake his claim at the old-fashioned soda counter.

      “Is there something wrong with your breakfast this morning, Pastor?” Kate stood next to the booth again, staring down at the plate of food he’d barely made a dent in.

      “Not a thing. I just decided to surrender earlier than I usually do.” Matt waved a white paper napkin in the air to prove it.

      Kate